Miracles Of Babaji

I was once a Godless cretin, carving a path of self serving destruction and manipulation of people, places, and events for my own benefit. The life that I led ended badly for me and I had to change. It was at that time that I discovered Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda. It was a book destined to rewrite my life, and introduce me to Mahavatar Babaji.

Babaji is a timeless Saint considered to be a Yogi-Christ of Modern India. Paramahansa Yogananda describes him as a deathless Avatar. An Avatar is unsubject to the universal economy. His pure body, visible as a light image is free from any debt to nature. He is solely responsible for bringing Kria Yoga back to humanity. This is a scientific method for achieving Nirbikalpa Samadhi, a state of changeless God-consciousness. The lineage of the Self-Realization Fellowship began with Babaji. He was guru to Lahiri Mahasaya, who became guru to Sri Yukteswar, who became guru to Paramahansa Yogananda, the final guru and founder of the fellowship.

I became a yogi of the order through initiation, and meditate and perform Kria Yoga daily. There have been a multitude of miracles in my life since enrolling in the fellowship. I would like to share them. Upon receiving a letter from The Self-Realization Fellowship, my then Property Manager (and boss) who grew up surfing on the beach in the shadows of the Encinitas, California Ashram took a second look at me and later became my wife.

Together we started a rescue ranch for horses and I learned Equine Massage. I became a healer instead of a plunderer. We rescued a two day old colt with Congenital Flexural Deformity who was about to be euthanized. Through aggressive manual therapy, we straightened his crooked legs, and in time, he grew strait and tall. Unfortunately, he was taken from us in a horrific accident. We were devastated. Although our loss was great and our hearts were heavy, we moved forward with our mission to heal.

In the past, it would have served to close my heart and harden it. Instead, through Kria Yoga, my heart seemed even more open and full of love. I realized it was my mission to help ease the burden of these poor, tortured, and wretched creatures. The miracles came to us in all sizes, shapes, and needs.

Robin, a paint horse who fell seventy feet from a cliff and survived, her right leg was turned and bent. It was scarred, and practically frozen. Her body was lame, and she was being used as a brood mare. Her hooves were overgrown and splitting.

We watched our massage students work tirelessly to break up the scar tissue and stretch her stiff and sore muscles. Their efforts were rewarded when during a class session we looked out of the windows into the arena to see Robin loping around it.

Sid and Sam, a Percheron pair of behemoth brothers appeared. They were in excess of 2000 lbs a piece. Sid, the older brother, so overworked, had laid down on the trail while pulling a sleigh. I was to revel in the sound of his thunderous hooves as he and Sam would gallop to their grain in the morning.

A quarter horse mare named Sister stood over her lifeless foal. She was moaning and sighing. She turned and placed her giant head against my chest. My natural instinct was to cradle her as she stood and moaned. We found out later that the local vet had inadvertently taken a blood sample from her twin sister by mistake. His misdiagnosis allowed Sister to go untreated for Fescue Grass poisoning.

An unnamed horse came to us through the Silt, Colorado auction barn. Thin and frail, she collapsed as the arena gate was closed. We stepped in and purchased her before the killer bought her and we named her Tahoe, after where we were married. A wretch of a creature with open sores on her legs, and ulcerated nostrils causing nose bleeds. I labored constantly cleaning the water troughs because the other horses wouldn’t go near the bloody water. There was nothing that we could do for her. We comforted her with Veterinary Care and all that she could possible eat, as she hopelessly lost weight and wobbled around our fields. When the quality of her life became unbearable, we called the vet to euthanize her. We humanely ended her pain and suffering and it was at that time that my heart truly began to open and the years of bitterness disappear. I realized my calling was to help these creatures move on to a loving God.

Over the remaining years of the ranch, we had many tragedies as with Tahoe, and each one opened my hardened heart further. I didn’t think I had the capacity for any greater love and compassion. We always found the room in our hearts for more. We reveled in each individual success. Dreaming Doc, a double bred Doc Bar Quarter horse, was so special that we gave him to a young girl nicknamed Whistler, who had witnessed her own horse’s death. She renamed him Bullet. Whistler and the Bullet went on to win the Junior National Christian Rodeo Championships.

Our rescue ranch ended with our old quarter horse couple Kota’s Rookie Page, (Buddy) a grandson of the great Poco Bueno, and his wife Sage. Buddy was our first rescue from a wilderness outfitter. He was lame in his left front shoulder. Sage, an unwanted red dun quarter horse was rescued from the dark recesses of a breeding barn for miniatures. She was lame in both front legs. They lived out their golden years together, and were euthanized as a couple when the Vet advised us they could no longer survive another winter. This was a particularly difficult and heart breaking passage.

The final chapter to our rescue story was an E-mail from the woman that fell in love with and bought my Appaloosa named Snowy. He was a gray horse that succumbed to the skin cancers we so valiantly fought. My Pegasus finally got his wings.

Perhaps you are wondering why I’m telling you these stories of love, compassion, ignorance, and cruelty. The veil of Maya was lifted from my eyes and I am one of the world’s wretched creatures bathed in the light of Babaji’s saving grace. I am one of his miracles.

I ask for your help in saving the Haidakan Ashram in India. It is threatened by the Indian Government. They are planning to build a large dam at Jamrani near Haldwani in Uttarakhand. It will flood the valley and destroy the temple built more than 100 years ago with the hands of the spiritual saint It will destroy his Ashram, a Mecca to thousands of devotee’s. If you are not familiar with Babiji, I would recommend that you read Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda.

Please help by going to http://www.petiononline.com/Ramjani and signing the petition to save the Ashram. Albert Bianchine

Don't Let The Gate Hit Your Butt

Cowboy wisdom comes at a stiff price. My Equine career consisted of working for fifteen years in a Rescue Ranch and an Equine Massage School. I made all the novice mistakes. I was a true green horn and paid dearly. Real life consists of people who make mistakes every day.

One of our early rescues was a fifteen year old gray Appaloosa named Snowy. He was not able to be ridden and had a bad attitude. We would soon find out the cause. A local rancher explained that the outfitter had a problem with him not responding to the reins when they tried neck reining him. Their solution was to put large pointed tacks in the reins so that when they laid the reins over his neck, they would stick him. He would eventually learn to move away from the reins. They didn’t take into account how stubborn an Appaloosa really is. This just served to ruin him. They ended up packing him between the mules and he spent his career there.

My wife Kathy, being an English rider, suggested that I mouth rein him. I tried it, and Snowy responded well. He resisted when urging him to move forward, especially at a speed greater than a walk. I remember clearly saying to Kathy, “Open the gate to the big field, I’m going to teach him to run.”

“Perhaps that’s not a good idea Al,” was her response. “Just open the gate,” I replied curtly. She smiled, opened the gate, and stepped aside. At the same time she opened it our other horse Buddy rushed out to get to the fresh grass. The gate hit Snowy in his butt. I got my wish. Snowy bolted like a shot. He was bucking with both feet like a bucking bronco. I am a novice rider and after the third buck I remember seeing my feet out in front of me above my head.

I hit the ground hard, very hard. The vision of Snowy bucking off across the field without me still lingers. I became a Cowboy that day. A true Buckaroo. I was to eventually make peace with Snowy, and gain valuable Cowboy Wisdom. I learned gentle training, and not only to lead a horse to water, but also how to get him to drink.
Albert Bianchine

Get A Life Coach

You want to change? Do you have the desire to have a new job and a new life? Take a lesson from me, Eeyore. He’s the character who is always telling Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, or Tigger why they can’t go to the one hundred acre wood today. Get a life coach! I have been blessed in the fact that Kathy, my wife, is a trained life coach as well as an expert Ezine author.

By her Socratic questioning, and expert coaching, she was able to allow me to open up and expose the true root of my writing desires and goals. I was able to expose the fear that was prohibiting my moving forward. This has allowed me to slay my writing demon (the blank white page.)

By adjusting and redefining my unrealistic goals and expectations, I have been able to move forward. I have overcome my self made obstacles. Writing a blog regularly has stimulated my creativity. The desire to write well has always been there. My previous lack of action toward the fulfillment of that goal left me disenchanted and disillusioned in my life. By complaining bitterly about my inability to change my life’s experiences, I continued to do the same thing which was nothing.

For many years, I remained on the same path and lack of action, hoping for a different result. Imagine my surprise when I kept getting the same results. Duh? My Golden Retriever looks at me some times with a look (in her cute little blonde way) that says, “What are you, stupid?” The truth is, I’m not. I’m just very slow to learn. Yes. Unwilling to change my behavior patterns to get different results. I was unable to see the big picture that by writing every day will have an immense effect on my future.

There you have it. Over the years, I have attended many sales meetings. They always say to try and get the buyer to say yes at least three times so that they build a box for themselves that they can’t get out of. Guess what? Am I going to have to try and write my way out of this one? Yes, yes, yes!

The More You Use What God Has Given You, The More God Will Give You

The more you use what God has given you, the more God will give you. Those words were posted on a pneumatic workout machine at the Steuben Athletic Club in Albany, New York. My friend Bob and I were training in an attempt to get in condition for a several week ski trip to Colorado and Utah. We had just finished reading the book Seven Summits by Dick Bass. He was the owner of the ski area called Snowbird in Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah.

Dick Bass became the oldest man to climb (and summit) the highest peaks on all seven continents. By training for two years before his climbing attempt, he was able to summit all the peaks. He became our inspiration for getting into expert shape. I have never been afraid of mountaineering or skiing and have taken great pains to be among the top percentile of those adventurers.

On the first leg of the ski trip we visited Arapahoe Basin in Colorado where I began researching the history of that Ski Area. During the rest of our trip, I wrote the first chapter of my Historical Novel. I was both excited and anxious to get to my first writing workshop and get feedback for my work. It was received very well and I was encouraged by the participants to continue.

After the workshop, the blank white page became my nemesis. I have a hard time keeping a short story together so a full blown Historical Novel became my Goliath. Resembling the little David character, I would run and hide when the clean pages remained blank. I submitted my first chapter as a short story and received an honorable mention in a Writer’s Digest Competition. I filled the little story with all kinds of facts and descriptions to fill the pages.

Eventually, I moved to Colorado to pursue skiing and left the novel behind. It was too much, Goliath won. I moved on to Aspen, built a successful plumbing business, and bought a house. All the while, the project I had affectionately named Goliath still haunted me. He had become bigger and meaner than any mountain I had ever climbed or skied.

These days, I’m the cowardly lion, holding hands with Dorothy and the Scarecrow skipping to the Emerald City to meet the great Oz. They tell me that he gives out courage. I will get the courage to write. Goliath, he is standing in the road and he’s calling out my name.

This time, I’m writing my blog. I’m practicing. I am using the gift that God has given me. I am picking up my sling to slay the giant. Albert Bianchine

Devour The Classics

Read voraciously and devour the Classics. A good start would be World Masterpieces,Volume 1 and 2. Before each period there is an introduction to the period with a brief synopsis of each writer of the period. They will help familiarize you with great literature of all the periods of history.

I was extremely fortunate to be introduced to great literature at a young age. While perusing the stacks and thumbing through picture books of jet airplanes, I was accosted by a curly haired young man. “Why are you wasting your time with that? Follow me, I’ll show you where the good stuff is located,” said a young Ray Bono. He led me to the literature section and pulled out the largest book I’d ever seen. The Iliad and The Odyssey by Homer became my new challenge.

Ray offered to discuss it with me weekly, and over the coming year, under his mentorship, I was steeped in great writing. Greek Literature captured my imagination and stimulated many an evening of flights of fantasy as Hercules performed his great labors. I soared through the skies on the winged Pegasus and explored the darkest depths of Hades. All the while, I identified with the trials of Odysseus and rejoiced in his return to his beloved wife Penelope the most celebrated woman in Greek Literature. I was smitten by the adventures in far off lands. I have revisited those great works often, and they have never failed to stimulate my imagination.

Young Ray went on to be the Salutatorian of our High School. I went off seeking the adventures that I had dreamed of after reading those works. Somewhere in my adventures lies a story just waiting to be told. Albert Bianchine

Letting Go Of The Rigidity

In an exercise of The Tenth Insight, Holding the Vision, An Experimental Guide, by James Redfield and Carol Adrienne, you are asked to work on overcoming the fear that holds you back from achieving your goals. The exercise is designed to put yourself in another’s shoes to help develop empathy and compassion. You are asked to jot down the names of three or four people you don’t like or with whom you disagree. Beside the names write out the things you don’t agree with or don’t like about them.

You are then asked to go back and describe each of the people as if you could see their higher purpose. You are asked to use your imagination to speculate what deeper, positive purposes lies behind the outer characteristics that you see and judge.

The final step is to go back to the first step and insert your name in the place of one of the people that you don’t like. You are then asked to describe something you do that is similar to what you don’t like about the person. You are asked to notice how you feel when you go back and read the exercise.

After completing this exercise, I have realized that there are a few things about myself that I’m not happy with, especially where writing is concerned. I am perhaps the most rigid and inflexible personality that I know of. In my Equine Career I believe that I haven’t worked with any more stubborn or inflexible mules. The more I wrote, the more I realized that my preconceived ideas of writing success are out of touch with reality. I don’t have to be on a beach in Oregon in order to write a Historical Novel about a mountain in Colorado.

Many great novels have been written by commuters into New York City on subways and trains. I doubt that I will mysteriously get a large book contract for an abstract idea about a novel. How about writing it? How about finally interviewing the principles in Colorado that have already agreed to an interview? How about completing the ground work? Do you think I might be difficult to work with? Am I the person that I complain about by putting the cart before the horse? Am I really as overbearing as the person that I thought believed they knew everything about a subject when they were really a novice struggling along? Could I use the help that I had to offer? What and eye opener! Writing well is indeed a journey to self discovery. Albert Bianchine

Writing, The Art Of Healing

It was said by Ernest Hemingway that, “All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn … it’s the best book we’ve had. All American writing comes from that.” In Ernest Hemingway, A Reconsideration, Philip Young qualifies Hemingway’s quote. “This rather loose overstatement is generally taken to mean that Huckleberry Finn is the source for the natural, colloquial, and nonliterary prose style in which most modern American Literature, and particularly Hemingway’s is written.

Mark Twain who was disillusioned by the disappearance of the American Frontier, found life closing in on him all around found Huck Finn. Huckleberry found the big muddy and his raft. Every time his world closed in on him, a push of the raft found he and Jim in a fast moving river with trouble far behind them. Our hero never grows past young adulthood and at the crucial growth time he introduces Tom Sawyer.

Hemingway embellishes upon the Huckleberry character by creating his early Nick Adams and his difficulties at The Big Two Hearted River. Nick’s struggle to cross the river is generally attributed to Hemingway’s attempt to heal from his wounds received July 8, 1918 at Fossalta di Piave. Hemingway was wounded badly and for a time assumed to be beyond hope. It is said 277 pieces of shrapnel were removed from him. Psychologically, Nick almost doesn’t make it across the river. Through Nick and The Big Two Hearted River, Hemingway confronts his demon and seemingly keeps it at bay.

Writing is a form of healing, and history is full artists desperately trying. Living is hard, you have to try and survive. In your struggle, if it becomes too difficult, you can Just Open A Vein,like a quote by Red Smith in a book edited by William Brohaugh. Albert Bianchine